Nostalgia and a Box of Chocolate
by GEFM 420
Summary: Chlois Future Fic Lois can't remember her past, but when she finds out who she used to be she can't help wanting to find out more about the girl she was.
1. Prologue

**Title: Nostalgia and a Box of Chocolate**

**Author: GEFM**

**Genre: General/Romance**

**Fandom: Smallville**

**Pairing: Clark/Chloe**

**Disclaimer: I don't own. All characters are property of the CW network and DC comics.**

**A/N: Chlois future Fic**

Prologue

There are days when I feel him there. I cast a look over my shoulder into the shadows of my past. But I can never pinpoint a single recollection or name the sensation that fills me whenever I fail to do so.

He lurks in the recesses of my conscious, holding steadfast to a time in my life I find impossible to recall. There is something so engraved there, through the story of my teen years, which focuses him as the center.

Was he the tragic hero, the partner in crime, the lover, the enemy, or some combination of those in the account?

How was it that a man I had never met or never remembered meeting could arouse such a deep feeling in me?


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Her named was Chloe Sullivan.

The details about her were revealed to me a few months ago from a most unlikely source. Don't expect to get the name though, confidentiality and all that.

She'd been killed during an undocumented, underrepresented, wholly unremarkable event.

Of all the feats journalists must come to terms with at the start of their career, the top must be the acknowledgment that there are significant personal sacrifices to be made for the public, who at large is the sole beneficiary of the exposure of deceptions. This business of satisfying that demand is a highly risky, highly dangerous one.

The more people who were out to kill you at any given time, the better you were at your job.

Chloe was, in fact, a very talented reporter.

Intrepid by the ripe age of 13, she quickly identified the one true passion in her life: journalism. _Daily Planet_ and Extra-strong coffee in hand, she started a storm in the tiny niche of the world she now inhabited (after moving from MET) called appropriately, 'Smallville'. Taking on the arduous task as the editor of the High School newspaper, she began to cater its focus onto a sweeping theory that many locals thought rivaled the _Inquisitor_ in sheer ridiculousness. It interested me to know why one would so fervently pursue the low-life path to journalistic stardom when there was no money to be gained.

I of course voiced this inquiry to my source, whom in turn told me that though many could hardly wrap their brains around the idea, the majority of the town's inhabitants were aware of what was going on, being the ones who had experienced her findings either directly or indirectly. It had been a far easier option however, to ignore the glaring evidence, choosing instead to blame the local Lex-Corp Plant for all that went wrong in the town. I sensed the impartiality of my informant drastically lessen.

After various brushes with death, vendetta and otherwise related, she began to unearth small pieces of a seemingly incomprehensible puzzle concerning a secret facility. The story would somehow turn up donning her initials one-year post mortem, there after gaining acclaim throughout the world as, "Justice at Any Price"; an ambitious expose' uncovering LuthorCorp's worldwide endeavors to exploit superhuman innocents in the name of our defense.

Following a stint as both intern and columnist respectively for _The Daily Planet,_ Chloe was forced to return to her regular small-town venue, due to a particularly shady infraction between she and Lionel Luthor (that my go to had no further knowledge of). From there she single handedly rose a dead case to the forefront, through various indiscernible details, and was able, with the help of the son Luthor (whom it was confirmed was once a close friend of hers) to bring up charges against Daddy Luthor. The pseudo-witness protection plan she was provided later included a fake death.

With all that and the subsequent enhancement of Lex Luthor's manic nature in regards to all things supernatural, it's hard to believe the insignificant way her life would come to an end.

Then again, what is often the simplest explanation is usually the right one.

What was more likely?

That Chloe had succumbed to an extremely rare genetic degenerative disease **OR** that most of the doctoring done in her evaluation was by Luthor lackeys instead of trained physicians.

Regardless, their tracks were covered so well; it was impossible to prove anything.

With her gone, no one could testify to the validity of her findings with 33.1, no one could point the feverish press in the right direction, allowing the Luthor clean up team to swoop in, discard all the implicating proof and begin denying the whole event.

Her life work, though notable for endeavor and journalistic prowess, failed to incriminate Lex too severely and only caused a momentary marginal drop in stock.

TBC…

Just in case it wasn't clear Lex is her informant.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When I had woken up, I found myself present for a conclave of world-renowned generals. They represented several different countries, each complete in uniform, medals and all.

I barged into the large expensively furnished boardroom in a state of delirium, wearing a drafty hospital gown. The room stood in stark contrast to everything else I'd seen in the place. The claustrophobia inducing corridors could only be apart of a place that had little space to offer in the first place. I wondered if we were at some sort of top secret military base.

One man had been particularly shocked by my sudden interruption, speaking in hurried French to the other generals, asking that they wait for him.

He grabbed me by the elbow in a rather rough manner, leading me into the hallway past the office we were just in.

He demanded that I returned to my room and rest, promising to stop by later. He didn't wait for my answer, and turned back to leave.

"Wait…Wait! Where am I? What happened to me?" It was uncomfortable to talk with this indescribable tightness in my face, but I was desperate for any answer he could give me.

"Go back to your room. Now." He turned his back to me again and stormed back into the meeting.

After I watched him go, I too decided to depart. On the way, through the narrow dark passage that unpleasantly reminded me of a sewer, I noticed the oddest sensation, like hot liquid running down my face. I reached up to find its source. There was a swollen mound there and what felt like a thick thread beneath my fingertips.

I hesitantly pulled my hand back to find it stained red. Shocked, I stumbled backward, causing my toes to catch on the grating beneath me, and fall onto a few reflective pipes that were strewn about carelessly. I saw my hideous purplish blue image in them. A broken nose, various badly treated stitches, and an inflamed right eye completed the entire grotesque ensemble. Overwhelmed, I lost consciousness a moment later.

It was my first memory.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

From the images I'd seen of her recently, I sensed myself praising the work they'd done with me.

In almost every way possible we were superficially different.

Name, height, hair color, eye color, nose shape, and facial structure.

There was nothing in common, nothing you could point out and question. Anything you thought was remotely similar could be played off as a trick of the eye or a likeness inherited by the filial relation.

Except the relation of Lois Lane and Chloe Sullivan was far deeper.

I took off my contact lenses and replaced them in their hard plastic case as I trudged off to bed; a routine I have dutifully performed every night and had done since that day I'd assumed my new persona all those years ago.

Except now the mirror forced me to confront my fragmented past.

Whenever I looked into those eyes, I now saw her staring back at me.

Her eyes were mesmerizing, enthralling, and captivating. A vivacious blue-green speckled with streaks of faint silver. A vast sea that possessed a history I can not comprehend.

They were simply unforgettable.

And they were not my own. They did not remain stagnant. They did not appear expressionless. They were not exhausted from the perpetually laborious guarding of a secret.

They had an innocent, playful feistiness in them that made the truth of my double life more real than anything I knew. More than the _Planet_ was a newspaper, Superman was a hero, and I was a reporter.

More than anything I understood to be true, I was two invariably disparate people, living perplexingly as one whole entity.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The following bit is sort of muddled, because I'd been so hopped up on morphine during that period to even process that I was awake most of the time.

What I do remember is from the second time I heard it told to me. I had no memory of having the first encounter with my "father" and it was pure luck that I was able to retain the knowledge the next time around. I just so happened to be particularly lucid at that moment.

He'd crept into the half-room/ half-cell, asking gratuitously if I were awake. He ordered someone I hadn't noticed in the room to leave. Having heard I had collapsed earlier he seemed exponentially more delicate with me, but still not in a necessarily caring manner. Army men must all be like that.

"I have so many questions for you." I stared up into the metal ceiling for a moment as I felt all of the despair and mystery crash into me at once. It was painful not knowing anything about anything and wanting at the same time to be informed of everything.

He smiled a sort of curiously unsure grin. I got the feeling he didn't find occasion to do so all that much.

"I figured you would." I cocked an eyebrow at that remark, a clear sign of the degree of my ignorance.

He ignored my inquiring look, and finally came over to sit on my bed. It wasn't my real bed I assumed, but the place where I'd been said to sleep during my persistent coma over the past 3 months.

I guess it was **_my_** bed now. What else did I own in the world? As far as I knew…nothing.

When he came over and sat on the bed, I felt a protectiveness grow inside me. But I fought the urge to tell him to move because I knew that this was the only man who could tell me what was going on.

"Do you know who I am?"

"To be honest, I don't even know who I am."

"Ah well…" He patted my knee and I half jumped out of my skin.

"Easy, easy there." His grip tightened on my leg to calm me.

"I'm not here to hurt you. Okay? I'm the only person you can trust." There was a weight in his words that made me believe him.

"Your name is Lois Lane and I'm your father, Samuel."

Relief washed over her. There was at least one person in the world she was connected to. That feeling has no artificial substitute for it.

"We are thousands of feet below sea level, inside the main quarters of the world's largest battle-ready submarine." The smile was back again. "U.S owned, of course."

"After pulling a few strings I was able to move us—and more importantly you—here, away from danger." He looked around the cold metal space. "A small perk for a three star general of the army."

"What—What danger?"

He considered me for a moment. I should have realized how vulnerable I was, and how easily manipulated I could be. I should have known to be more skeptical then of everything I learned, but I was so desperate to understand what was happening that I just took whatever he said on faith.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now that you are in recuperation." I nodded obediently.

"These major lacerations and incisions all over you were all the result of a bomb."

"A bomb?" My eyes widened like a child's did once you told the next exciting part of a story.

"You came to see me at our house in Germany and unknowingly walked straight into a trap. Someone from my division had leaked my location and where I was expected. When I arrived you'd already been blown into the yard."

But how did I survive and with no burns either? There were so many things that didn't match up. Things I had been so willing to overlook.

"It turns out that I was not the intended target, though. You had enlisted to fight a year before, and had already made quite a name for yourself. You'd pissed off some overzealous chauvinist sergeant by getting him dishonorably discharged."

He went on to describe in uncontestable detail how he had been able to sneak in and wire our house. Then the General (which he'd later asked to be called) went on to explain how we'd come to be here after I had gotten reconstructive surgery on my legs, face, and nose.

The story had been thrilling and made me feel far more important than I could have ever guessed.

However, there was something deeply inquisitive in my nature that after reviewing what was said wouldn't let it all be absorbed. When I finally got back to the real world I was smart enough to recheck all his claims. Everything was dead on.

Little did I know, he had been telling me the unfortunate story of his real daughter, the girl whose identity I had unwittingly adopted: Lois Lane.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Clark Kent.

The name didn't ring any bells, which didn't make a whole lot of sense. I should have seen his bylines somewhere. Thing is, I've read every reporter at the Planet and am on first name basis with most of them. He wouldn't be from another prestigious paper since Human Resources didn't make a habit of 'stealing players'.

Unless…

But Perry would never hire an inexperienced, straight out of college, writer. Never.

Except that…He did.

"I Can't **BELIEVE THIS**! You're practically hiring him out of diapers!" My voice had gone to new level of shriek when I was told this Kent person was assigned to be my unfortunate partner.

"Ms. Lane! I'm sorry that I have wrongly given you the impression that I welcome your questioning of my choices, but I assure you that if you unabashedly do so again you will find yourself no longer writing for this publication. Now, I think its best you learn to live with my…what did you call it? Oh yes, my temporary lapse of consciousness."

I was shooed from the office then and sulked all the way back to my desk, whose neighboring cubicle was now occupied by the infamous character, Mr. Kent.

He immediately shot up as he caught sight of me and I couldn't help but notice the way he towered over the cubicle. Heck, the way he towered over everything.

He wore a loose fitted white dress shirt and equally bland khaki pants. I got the feeling that he didn't own anything colorful…or was severely colorblind.

Even his thick black glasses drooped to the rim of his nose in a horribly pathetic manner.

This must be a joke. Where do you find people like this?

"Hi. I'm Clark Kent." His hand shot out imposingly.

"I know who you are." Taking his outstretched hand, I thought about how to outline the ground rules of our partnership.

I didn't want him to think we were going to be buddy buddy from now on. He seemed like one of those really big, really convivial guys who was just happy to be outside and meet people.

It didn't surprise me at all when he said he was from Smallville, Kansas; some backcountry hick-town no one ever cared to hear of.

He agreed to all my terms, on the condition I went to lunch with him because… he was new here.

It was a reasonable bargain. He kept his distance in the office and I gave up one unappetizing vending machine luncheon.

When we walked out around 12 to the coffee place across the street, He made a show of holding the door for me.

"Chivalry noted." I walked around him and caught the elevator for us. His jacket caught on the handle he held open and was caught behind for a second too long.

I watched as the doors closed before he could get there. I waved sorrowfully at him.

It was going to be fun to watch Metropolis beat the farm boy out of him.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It's funny how regardless of the many roadblocks The General put in my way that I inevitably fell into journalism.

It was a dream that transcended everything. It was so integral to my character that I couldn't be without it, not even if my whole life was turned upside down.

Since I had already completed 3 years of college beforehand, I, having acquired enough credits, only needed to go back and finish one semester.

My major was journalism, but I wasn't all that sure if that's what I still wanted to pursue. I had no memory of the past 20 years of my life. Maybe I was different now. The concern however, was unfounded.

After my first few classes and a visit to the Met U _Kansan_ I was sold.

I got a good talk from The General for that. He admonished me for giving up the great fight and I argued that I saw an even greater fight with the pen.

He sent Lucy (my "sister") over to talk me out of it too, whom I had only met a few weeks before and whom I automatically connected with.

Lucy had unquestionably supported my decision and returned to England (where my father was stationed) to tell him.

We haven't spoken since.

Pauline Kahn was on the verge of retirement when I first applied for a job at the _Planet_. She was the first woman in history to own three Pulitzer prizes. She was my second idol. The first of course was Nellie Bly, the pioneer journalist who traveled the world and worked for John Pulitzer himself.

Mrs. Kahn agreed to meet me after some very insistent prodding. She gave me a second level job, saying regally that she felt 'generous' that day. She would die a mere three weeks later.

"You remind me of someone." She said offhandedly as I was leaving the room. I was trying my best to restrain the smile plastered on my face.

"Really?" I asked incredulously, because I'd never really gotten that before.

She studied me for a second, trying to place the connection but failing.

"But then, there are billions of people in the world. You're bound to think someone reminds you of someone else."

The comment had been so arbitrary and so insignificant that it shouldn't have meant anything. But for the first time I thought about the life I had all those years ago. Maybe I had been here before, maybe I'd spoken to her before. I had no idea either way.

Imagine all the people I met, all the people I loved and who loved me whom didn't know I was alive and whom I couldn't remember.

It was then that I started my search into the past.

When I began seriously to piece together the remnants of a life forgotten.

TBC…


End file.
